A teenager comes to you
Bruises on her arm
Dislocated shoulder
It’s not the first time
Her mother did her harm.
You can call social services
Follow all protocol
When she asks why God
Didn’t stop her abuser
Answers seem so small.

On missions overseas
A woman tearfully explains
If she accepts Christ
An infidel a traitor
And worse she’ll be named
Her husband will beat her
He & her father might
Stone her to death
Will God protect her
When rocks pound her tonight?

A man lives in pain
Every single day
Relief never comes
Just why he’s in agony
The doctors can’t say
He hurts so much
He’s losing touch
Answer him one thing
Will God heal him?
He needs it so much.

What do you answer
In situations with such need
You can’t promise rescue
Or protection or discount
God’s power to intercede.
But you don’t have answers
Beyond God gave man free will
And we’re capable of evil
An violence against others
A truth that rages still.

In the entanglement
Of mankind’s affairs
We can be sure
God surely weeps
God does surely care
Man has free will
To do as he may choose
To live with God
As his standard
Or toss it all to lose.

How do you explain
Intense poverty and hunger
Senseless violence or abuse
Needless acts of evil
Painful ends of man’s anger?
How do you answer
Why one cry the tide doesn’t turn
Or a hundred souls
Are violently silenced
And it’s the Bible they burn?

God is alive and well
He’s working everyday
He is not weak
Nor does He forget
The prayers that we pray
The evil in man’s hearts
With free will to reign
Will always cause our questions
Sometimes crush the innocent
Oh so often bring the pain.

It isn’t that God forgets
Or doesn’t send the truth
Or leaves us unprotected
When evil is prevailing
And Satan’s on the loose.
But how He acts
And when He moves
They aren’t our decision
Our choice is to
Trust or not the
Eternity in God’s wisdom.
d.f.a.v. 6-24-14–Donna

The problem with
Poets, writers and fairytale makers
Is never being sure
If what they speak is truth
Or who and what they want
Truth to be.

The problem with
Authors, playwrights and eassaiest
Is never really knowing
If the experiences laid bare
Are theirs to share
Or borrowed from another.

The problem with
One whose craft is words
Molding, rearranging and perfecting
Is the craft defies reality
When the rules mean more
Than the story they tell.

The problem with
All these is that they are me
For to write is to breathe
And I crave for my work
To be read and understood
And to speak truth gently.

The problem with
Being a wordsmith of truth
Is truth is beauty and ugly
Healing and wounding
Sustaining and killing
All with the same words made tools.

The problem with
Using words, symbolism, rhythm
To tell the story
Is that life retold would rather lead
To places more pleasant
Than dark places in man’s soul.

So I pray each day
And I read my words through
The lenses of Holy Scripture
And I try to ignore
All the stats and numbers
To write solely to an audience of One.

The solution to the problem
Is tearing through the rules
Or writing within them in honesty
Whether the piece sells or doesn’t
Is not the measure of success
But God’s approval is.
d.f.a.v. 6-18-14–Donna